Date: Sun, 25 May 2008 09:10:10 +0200 From: Batardsm Subject: skin fuck 14 When he came to, he was back in the pit. Covered head to toe in rubber and unable to move a muscle. His arse felt torn and the pain coming from it was unbelievable, as if somebody was pushing a thousand needles into his anal sphincter all at once. His insides felt strange, very stretched with a dull ache spreading its heat throughout his guts. It was only the pain that told him that he had not imagined his Master's fisting session. The pain told him that the sight of his Master's rubber covered fist and forearm smeared in engine oil before it was thrust in his arse had been no trick of the mind. It had been real. Now his arse felt empty, a gaping hole, which was desperate to be filled by his Master's fist and forearm. That felt more natural than this emptiness. But he had no control over that. That was a matter for his Master. Just like he had no control over when he pissed, shat or ate. Only his Master had control over these even basic matters. His Master controlled whether he lived or died in the stinking cesspool that was his home. Over time his mind drifted again and again in the darkness behind the two rubber hoods that covered and squeezed his skull. His thoughts whirled in his head. Sometimes he could see "outside" the hoods, could see clearly things happening before his eyes as if he was seeing through the two thick layers of rubber. He was never sure whether he was dreaming or whether these things really happened to him. One of them was when his Master thrashed him beyond pain to a world where his body no longer existed. His mind was freed from his body and somehow floated above it looking down on the torn and bleeding flesh of his own back and arse, looking at the pitiful body hanging limply in its chains. The same body that shivered when he first saw the instruments which his Master would use to turn his back and arse into a bloody mess. Was it the cold as his master hoisted his manacled hands above his head? Was it because he was completely naked and vulnerable? His whole body was available for his Master to abuse, his legs spread apart and secured to a spreader bar. He could move his legs backwards and forwards with some difficulty. He did not understand why they had not been tied down to or secured to the floor. He would find out in due course. Or was it just fear? His Master shoved the large penis gag into his mouth, opening up his jaw painfully. He nearly gagged as the hard rubber penis pushed at the back of his throat. No sound came out as it was stopped by the huge gag. He would not even be able to scream as the pain got worse and worse. He could only scream in his own head. There were three instruments on the floor at his feet: a leather strap, a large wooden paddle with holes drilled out of it and a large rubber flogger. There was a fourth instrument but it was not on the floor. That is what his Master used first. He knew nothing of it until his Master's large hand had came careening down on his right arse cheek. He jumped forward with the shock and pain and tried to scream out loud. But the last was strangled in his throat by the large gag. "Don't you fucking move your arse cunt. Shove your fucking arse back in the air so I can get at it easily." He now knew why his Master had left his feet relatively free. He wanted him to have the freedom to move them but have to have the discipline not to move them because that is what his Master wanted. The right cheek of his arse was on fire again as his Master's hand came down hard on it. It took a lot for him not to recoil a second time from the onslaught. By the time his Master had reached ten strokes on his right cheek he wanted it to stop. He thought he couldn't take anymore already and he knew that this was only the beginning. His right arse cheek stung so much. This contrasted sharply with his left cheek, which felt cold. But this did not last for very long. Ten strokes of his Master's palm now landed on his left cheek. He wanted so much to move his arse away from the source of the pain, to try and escape somehow but he knew better. He knew that things would only get worse for him if he did. This was what his Master wanted and so he must just obey him and give into the pain. He squirmed but he did not move his arse away from his Master's hard hand. His mind was exploding by the time his Master had reached around one hundred strokes on each arse. His whole arse now hurt. Every bit of it. He could see bright lights in his eyes as his Master's hand mercilessly rammed against the red cheeks of his arse and the pain cut quickly across the whole of both cheeks. Tiny explosions in his head. Some of them so intense that he momentarily forgot about the thwack of the hand that followed. But by the hand after that he was back in the pit of pain. Then his Master stopped momentarily. And his arse just "hummed" with the pain. It throbbed in an angry red mass of bruised flesh. He would not be able to bear anything touching his arse for days let alone sit down. But then he did not sit these days, he only hung in his pit. But he would never be able to bear the tight rubber pulling in and rubbing against his severely bruised arse. But there was far worse to come. His Master's hand had only been the first of four courses of pain, each course being more painful than the last.